Batman: Case of the Serpent Syndicate 1
by TheMisterMage
Summary: When Bruce Wayne finds out that he has been ineffective as just a vigilante in a ski-mask, he decides that he needs to become something more... something that could be lurking in every shadow, around every corner... the BATMAN. In his first outing, Batman will encounter a foe the world long though dead, a world renowned killer, and a love he long thought lost...


My name is Bruce Wayne. When I was 8 years old, my parents and those of my friends were shot in an alley in front of our very eyes. That day, I swore to myself that I would stop the crime that took my parents from me. To do this, I devoted my life to honing my body and mind into becoming a weapon in which to fight evil. I am vengeance. I am the night. I. AM. BATMAN.

 **WAYNE MANOR - 1958**

Shoots of grass grew in the cracks of the stone walkway leading to the behemoth of a house that loomed over Jim Gordon, an average-sized man with an above average-sized mustache. Before him the front entrance of Wayne Manor, a monster of gothic architecture, was shaded by two trees on either side of the heavy, yet beautifully crafted, oak doors. He'd barely managed a single knock on those doors before Jim was greeted by a leathery faced old man in a suit who ushered him in.

"Detective Gordon." said the butler in his high english accent. His mustache was nowhere near the size of Jim's, and what little hair he had atop his head was little more than a white semicircle running in a band behind his ears.

"Nice to see you, Alfred." replied Jim, stepping into the entrance hall. "Bruce wanted to see me?"

"Yes, sir," answered Alfred, who motioned to take Jim's coat and hat. "I will let him know of your arrival at once."

"No need, Alfred!" The voice of Bruce Wayne boomed across the hall as he strode up to Jim, sloppily parted black hair bouncing.

"I'm glad you could make it," said Bruce with a warm smile, clapping Jim on the shoulder as he led the way to the parlor. "How have you been?"

"Busy," said Gordon, his mustache twitching slightly. The only real suggestion of a smile that almost formed. He adjusted his square spectacles as they stepped into the warmly lit parlor. "You didn't just call me to talk about work, I hope?"

"No, of course not." Bruce motioned to one of the two squashy looking armchairs set before the ornate granite hearth of the fireplace. He busied himself at his liquor cabinet for a moment as Jim sank into the nearer of the chairs with a quiet sigh.

Bruce poured a drink from a half-empty decanter and offered the glass to Jim, who took it politely. He took a quick sip, savoring the burn of the alcohol.

'Bruce Wayne knows his liquor,' Jim mused to himself.

"What have you been up to, Jim?" asked Bruce,sitting in the other chair with a soft smile. He sipped from his own drink, and let out a heavy sigh.

"Other than work? Nothing much."

"Still a full-time detective then, eh?" Bruce chuckled. "It's a shame. If I had my way, you'd be promoted to commissioner."

"Commissioner Gordon…" Jim shook his head, a crooked smile mostly hidden beneath his mustache. "No, that's not really my style."

"Then what is?"

"I don't know, being more...hands on, I guess. Detective work."

"Wading through the grit and grime of Gotham then?"

"Yes, I guess you could say that."

"Speaking of Gotham," said Bruce, adjusting in his chair. " What do you think of all these characters popping up?"

"Like that 'Superman' guy?"

"No, no, in Gotham."

"Oh, those… characters. It's a shame really, I know- *knew*- most of them. To see them lose their marbles…" Jim took another drink, looking soberly into the empty fireplace.

"And what about the vigilante?"

Gordon shook his head again. "Probably the nuttiest of them all, running around by himself in a ski mask like that . I'm sure he thinks he's making a difference, but at best, he's a nuisance to the criminals *and* the police."

Bruce's jovial smile dropped. But only for an instant. So quickly that Jim thought it was a trick of the lamplight.

"Oh. Shame, I really thought he was doing some good out there."

"Master Gordon," interjected Alfred, cutting Jim off before he could begin a response to Bruce. "You have a telephone call."

Jim walked to Alfred, who had the phone in his hand, and picked up the receiver.

"Gordon," he answered gruffly. He fell silent, a scowl forming on his face as he visibly tensed.

"Yes. Of course. I'll be there right away."

Jim hung up the phone.

"I'm sorry, Bruce. I have to run."

"Is everything okay?"

Jim shook his head. "There was a murder at Marshall Lambert's mansion."

Bruce's look of concern turned to shock. "I understand. Of course."

And with that, Jim ran off, the squeak of his shoes ringing in the hall, punctuated by the slam of the heavy oak doors.

Bruce's face hardened, fingers clenching around his glass. He'd finished the imitation whiskey during their chat.

"He confirmed it, Alfred, I'm not making a difference."

"Don't say that, sir! Oh course you are."

"Dammit, you heard him! 'A nuisance at best!'"

Alfred sighed, "And exactly what are you going to do about it?"

"I need to make them fear me. They just see a man in a mask right now. I hoped that would be enough. But I'm going to have to be something more. A phantom. The monster that could be lurking around any corner." There was a dark gleam of inspiration in his eyes.

"And I imagine that nothing I can say will change your mind, will it, sir? I take it you've had a new costume prepared?"

Bruce smirked. "I don't think I'd call it a 'costume.'"

 **LAMBERT'S MANSION - 1958**

Having sped through winding back roads, narrowly avoiding crashing the car repeatedly, Batman arrived the scene. He stepped out of the car, seeing the huge stone monstrosity off in the distance that was the Lambert Family mansion, the rotating blue and red lights of police cars crowded around it. Black cape trailing behind him, Batman began climbing a nearby tree. He needed a better vantage point.

Perching himself on one of the tree's branches, Batman took a pair of binoculars from one of the leather pouches of his utility belt, using them to examine the mansion in the far off distance. He needed a way inside. With the police blocking the front entrance, the front door was a no go. A more creative approach would be required, it seemed. Eyes darting around the place, Batman's eyes eventually fell on the eastern wall of the mansion that he would be able to scale unnoticed.

Batman leapt off the branch, spreading out his cape and gliding towards his desired location. Landing with a soft thud, he checked to make sure no one had seen him. No one had; the cops were probably eating donuts. Or, knowing Gotham, stuffing little valuables into their pockets. But he needed to stay on track. Pulling out his grappling hook, Batman shot it up, the hook burying itself in the stone wall of the mansion. The line pulled him up, hook detaching itself from the stone once he arrived on the roof. Sneaking over to an open skylight above where the investigation was going on, Batman peered in.

"So, you're Philip Lambert," asked Detective Gordon, "son of Marshall Lambert,correct?"

"Yes, of course I am, " spat Lambert.

"Just making sure for the record, son," said Gordon, perfectly calm. It was obvious that he was in his element. "Can you think of any reason why your father may have been killed?"

"No! Nothing that would have been taken seriously."

"What do you mean, 'taken seriously?" asked Gordon with a scowl.

"My father is… was, a powerful man. Death threats were a regular occurence." The younger Lambert tensed up, eyes rolling down to the corner.

"And what were the latest death threats?"

"Just some phone calls. He gets calls like that all the time, though. It's the price of doing business. Nothing ever comes from them."

"Well it seems something did this time." Gordon let out a heavy sigh. "You said you witnessed the murder. Is there anything you can tell us?"

"I just saw some huge black bat...thing standing over my father's body. It jumped out the window when I turned on the lights. I didn't get a very good look at it."

In the corner of the room, the phone rang, startling both Gordon and the witness.

Jim picked up the phone on the second ring. "Hello?" he asked. "Jim Gordon, GCPD speaking."

A panicked voice answered, though it was far too quiet for Batman to make out many words from where he was crouched.

"Sir, calm down, please," said Jim gruffly. "Mr...Stryker, was it? No, I'm sorry, I can't discuss ongoing investigations. Yes. Okay." Jim was writing something on a pad of paper.

Batman could just barely make out *'Alfred Stryker. Similar threats as victim. Possible susp.'*

"Mr. Stryker," Jim continued. "If you'll give me your address, I'll personally send someone to investigate. No, stay where you are. Lock the doors and windows, I'll make sure my officers announce themselves."

Batman leapt into action, jumping off the roof and gliding back to his car.

 **STRYKERS MANSION - 1958**

Black boots stomped up the wooden stairs as Batman raced to save the life of Alfred Stryker. Time was of the essence. Arriving at a large wooden door, Batman kicked it in, the door making a muffled thud as it hit the carpet.

For an instant, Batman was able to take in the scene before him; the bat-like phantasm Philip Lambert had seen hovered above a very pale Alfred Stryker, knife in hand. Assailant and victim had both been surprised by the sudden appearance of Batman. But the shock was wearing off.

Batman sprung into action, leaping at the would-be assassin, but an instant too late. The old man let out a strangled sort of cry as the assailant plunged the knife into his chest.

Thunderous bootsteps rumbled up the stairs. The police. Gordon must have yelled so hard that he was red in the face to get them here this quickly. Batman grabbed at the phantasm's grey cloak, which just barely slipped past his fingertips as they dove through the window.

"GCPD! Put your hands up!" The voice belonged to Detective Gordon, who was pointing his gun at Batman.

Once again, Batman had an instant to take stock of the situation. Strike one: the police had just found him standing over Alfred Stryker's still warm body. Strike two: he certainly matched the description that their only eyewitness had given. Strike three: he was about to mark himself as hostile.

With a practiced flick of his wrist, a batarang flew at Detective Gordon's gun. Jim yelped as the razor sharp blade impacted hard enough to knock the gun out of his hand. Following up his throw, Batman threw down several white pellets which let out a *pop*, and instantly began filling the room with a cloud thick of smoke. He climbed out the window, ready to purse the phantasm.

Feeling the roof tiling underneath his boots, Batman started at the phantasm across from him, both of their capes billowing in the wind. The phantasm was clad simply, only wearing a torn grey cloak with the hood pulled up, a mask which appeared to have some sort of breathing unit attached, and a pair of black pants with boots.

"Who are you?" growled Batman.

"I believe the police are referring to me as a ...phantasm, no?" said the Phantasm. His voice was unearthly. Unsettling. And clearly being changed via an electronic modulator.

Whipping out his grappling hook, Batman shot it at the Phantasm, effortlessly puncturing their shoulder and sending them flying towards him. They reacted quickly though, using a knife to the cut the line, boots clapping against the tiled roof just out of Batman's grasp. They threw the blade at Batman, who simply ducked to the side, narrowly avoiding it. With the distance closed, the two engaged each other, sending out a flurry of punches and kicks, trying to see whose defenses would break first.

It would be Batman's.

Slashing at the caped crusader with clawed gloves, the Phantasm left several bloody gashes across his chest, making him growl in pain. Dazed from the pain, Batman staggered about, leaving himself vulnerable as his legs fell out from under him. Landing on his back, the Phantasm stood over him, blade in hand, ready to deliver the killing blow. Quickly wrapping his legs around his opponent, Batman heaved himself up onto the Phantasm and pushed down, effectively having reversed their situations.

Batman pinned the phantasm's arms down with his legs as he pummeled the poor soul underneath him, looking to break the breathing apparatus. With his sights so focused on damaging it, he didn't notice the Phantasm's legs until it was too late. They wrapped around him in a headlock and twisted, sending him tumbling off.

Now with a bit of space between the two broken and bleeding combatants, the two took the momentary break to reevaluate their approaches.

"Why did you kill them?" asked Batman, his voice low and animalistic.

"Maybe money. Maybe it was personal. Maybe it was both. I doubt you'll ever know."

"Give me some time. I'll find out."

"Really? Because it really looks like you want me to kill you right here on this roof."

"You'll have to if you don't want me coming after you."

"Good point."

The Phantasm disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Not letting his guard down, Batman looked around for where they could have went, turning just in time to catch the Phantasm trying to stab him with their claws. Twisting his opponents arm, Batman quickly had the Phantasm on their back, arm up and his foot holding them down at the shoulder, ready to break it if need be.

"Talk, or I break your arm."

"It would be rather unfortunate if you did."

Batman twisted their arm a bit. The Phantasm growled, their modulated voice almost garbling the sound into static.

"Ok, I get it!"

"Then talk."

"No, I think not."

One of the Phantasm's legs shot up, a blade shot out of the heel of their boot, and stabbing into Batman's thigh, making him lose his grip, allowing his opponent to get out from under him.

In a single, simple motion, the Phantasm grabbed Batman, pulling him down onto the blade of a knife. Rolling Batman off of themself, the Phantasm watched as he struggled to get up, only to fall back down again, blood pooling around him.

With yet another cloud of smoke, the Phantasm disappeared, leaving Batman to die, alone, on the roof.


End file.
